


Proper Southern Welcome

by fauchevalent



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:18:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3227231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauchevalent/pseuds/fauchevalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch has sent the team home one night, stopping at his favorite bar before he heads home. It isn't seeing someone he recognizes that surprises him, it's seeing Emily Prentiss.<br/>(Wow, I'm awful at summaries.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bar

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, nada, zip.  
> Scratch that, I own the male OC.  
> But other than that- I don't.

_You deserve a drink,_ a voice in Aaron Hotchner's head told him, and for some, unknown reason- he cooperated. And since when did his conscience sound so much like his mother? He sighed, turning into the parking lot of one of the local bars he went to more often than he cared to admit- it was just, with Haley gone, and Jack not so present either, Hotch had a severely empty house. And his team didn't know, which made it all the more difficult to convince them all he was okay, and to just go home early- they didn't have a case, so why stay in? 

Of course, Aaron Hotchner had never been one to go home early.

His team knew this, and even once he convinced them all, he saw the looks they all threw his office's way. Hotch didn't need pity, he told himself, and he didn't need stacks of folders higher than his head.

He needed a drink. The voice in his head was, unsurprisingly, correct.

Hotch shouldered the door open, the jingle of windchimes announcing his arrival. He took a seat at the end of the bar and looked up at the bartender, who seemed fairly unoccupied but who was still staring off into space.

"Hey." Hotch decided against snapping his fingers in the poor boy's face, settling for a look of concern in his eyes instead. "Huh? Oh, uh- sorry." The bartender sighed, flipping his towel over his shoulder. "What'll it be?" 

Hotch sent the boy a smile. "A whiskey'll do fine." The boy nodded, sending the glass across the bar with a smooth  _clack_. After a few moments, when it seemed no one else was talking to the bartender, Hotch decided to investigate. "Hey." He tried again, and this time, it worked. "What'll it be?" 

"Oh, nothing, I'm good with this for a bit," Hotch didn't need to get himself drunk, even if he could just take a cab home. "But what were you thinking about? Before, when you were staring off?"

"Thinking about?" The boy looked at Hotch for a few seconds, as if trying to remember the moment. " _Oh_! You mean- no, I was just watching the girl down the end." He admitted. "Guy's been hounding her for a good hour, you know? I felt awful, but he wouldn't talk to me, so I couldn't really intervene." This time, Hotch followed the bartender's gaze all the way down the bar to where a brunette sat on a stool, a muscular man practically begging to take her home. Hotch read her body language, noticing how she kept turned away from the man at all times and even spun her stool fully away when she could. When she did, Hotch could see her face clearly, despite the distance.

It was Emily Prentiss.

"Uh, I'll go help out." Hotch found himself saying, and by some unknown force, he began to walk towards Emily Prentiss, drink in hand and only about halfway in work clothes (he had left his suit jacket in the car, and his button down was unbuttoned to show the t-shirt beneath- he'd considered just taking the damn button down off, but he felt a little awkward about doing it now, as he closed the distance between Emily and himself). 

_Shit._

He had to have a plan, and he had to have one quick. Suddenly, Hotch remembered a conversation he'd had with JJ.

_"Hey, Hotch, I have a question."_

_"Shoot."_

_"Do guys have- oh, this is a dumb question for me to ask, but- do guys have bar names?"_

_"Bar names?"_

_"You know, like a name that isn't yours that you use if a girl hits on you? Like if a guy hits on me at the bar, I use Lauren. Emily uses Sophie."_

_"I can't say you asked the right guy."_

They'd laughed then, but this was just what Hotch needed. Despite the team's promises to never profile each other, Hotch could already tell Emily had dropped the bar name. And she regretted it. And she had, knowing the look of unadulterated rage he'd seen cross her face, tried the boyfriend excuse. She hadn't, however, tried the Hotch excuse, he thought with a smile, as he came up to the pair.

* * *

 

"Hey," Emily heard the voice behind her, and it really surprised her. She didn't recognize the Southern lilt, but by the hand already on her back, she knew it had to be a friend.

She peered up at her attempting savior, and nearly jumped two feet in the air.

_Hotch?_

Emily questioned everything she'd ever profiled him as as Hotch extended a hand to the man before them. "Arthur Dawkins." There was that Southern lilt again. So she  _hadn't_ been imagining it?

Emily pulled on a smile, draping her arm over Hotch's shoulder. "And who would you be?" The man asked, and Emily nearly punched him. Hotch looked about to do the same, but recovered quickly with a smile. "I'd be the boyfriend, mister..."

"Johnson."

"Mister Johnson."

Emily tightened her hold on him, as if to prove this. She looked up at Hotch, watching him play the role perfectly, and saw smiles like she'd never seen flow out of her Unit Chief. He had dimples? Might as well appreciate them if she was his girlfriend for the night. Emily was lost in thought when she felt a tug on her waist. Snapping out of it, she looked around. "Hmm?"

"I was saying, Sophie," The man across from Emily spoke through narrowed eyes, and she felt Hotch tense up. "That you and your boyfriend ought to let me treat you a drink. Anyway, if you're so in love, I won't be no matter." Emily's mind went through the options she knew Hotch had already gone through.

1) Drugs in the drink.

2) Tries to follow them home, notices they go in different cars, chooses one and strikes.

3) Keeps trying to hit on Emily because he doesn't believe their ruse.

"Well, uh-" Emily plastered on a smile and looked to Hotch. He gave her a look that said 'I'm sorry,' and pressed a kiss to her lips. "That won't be a problem, Mister Johnson." Hotch said, smiling as he pulled away from Emily. 

Oh.

_Oh._

So  _this_ was how he wanted to play? 

Emily could do happy couple in blissful love, but  _this_? Knowing Hotch would have to run along with everything she said?

She had a  _treasure trove of ideas._

"Yes, Mister Johnson." Emily agreed, grinning wickedly, "I'd love to have a drink with my Arthur." Her eyes lit up when she said  _my_ , and there was a smile on Hotch's lips. "Please, don't let my Soph' fool ya, Mister Johnson." Hotch did a  _wicked_ Southern lilt, Emily would  _have_ to get the details on that later. "I go by Art to my friends, and if you're going to be buying our drinks for the night..." He trailed off, his hand falling to the small of Emily's back. "We oughtta have some fun." She and Hotch were about to be the couple-iest couple to ever couple, Emily realized, and it was going to last an entire night, and she would have to see him the next morning.

Well, he'd have to see her too.

"Well then," Mr. Johnson, who didn't, apparently, have a first name, was clearly impressed. "Let's take a booth."

Hotch and Emily led, and Emily was already planning her first move.

Not fast enough, apparently, as Hotch took the first move, sliding his hand into the back pocket of her jeans. Emily's eyes widened in surprise, and when she looked to Hotch, he simply flashed one of his apparently endless grins. "Behind us," He explained as a whisper in her ear, "He's looking for a slip-up."

"You're too good at your job." Emily replied softly, and took his face in her hands, kissing Hotch until they heard a throat clearing from behind them. Hotch smiled and leaned his forehead against Emily's. "Apparently not." He said, and then he led Emily into the booth for possibly the longest night of their lives.

"So, Art," Mr. Johnson took a seat, "What do you do for a living?"

"Oh," Hotch smiled again, dropping his hand to Emily's knee, "Law enforcement." He said easily.

Emily burst out into laughter at the response, burying her head in Hotch's shoulder. "Don't be modest." She insisted, at the look she received from Mr. Johnson.

"Well, I'm with the NYPD, sir." Emily had expected many things, but she hadn't expected  _that_. Clearly, Johnson hadn't either. "What brings you to Washington?"

"A case," he replied easily, "I'm technically supposed to be running it right now, but Soph' surprised me earlier this week, and..." His smile became a smirk, and Emily found herself looking down at her hands, a blush forming across her cheeks. 

"Ah."

Emily waited for the inevitable, sipping her drink and- "Can I see your badge, son?"  _There_ it was. Busted.

Hotch fumbled in his pocket, coming out with a wallet like thing and opened it to reveal-  _an NYPD badge._ Emily breathed in a tiny 'o' and wrapped an arm around Hotch to try and see the badge. Instead, he handed it off to her, simply pulling an excuse out of thin air that Emily barely even heard. She looked at it under the table, examining it for flaws- it was a real NYPD badge, she had to hand it to him. And across the bottom, the name said  _Arthur Dawkins._ Emily pocketed it, vowing to find out how Aaron Hotchner kept all his secret, interesting bits secret. 

"Arthur," Emily began, sipping her drink again, and she didn't know what to say, so instead, she caught him in a kiss as he looked towards her. When they pull apart, she said, "I'm cold," and couldn't help how much she sounded like a petulant child. Hotch shrugged off his outermost layer, leaving him in only a t-shirt and his work pants, and wrapped it around Emily, leaving a gentle kiss on her head as he did. 

Emily leaned in to him and murmured, "I'm going to get you back for that one."

"Oh," Hotch murmured back, raising an eyebrow, "I'm sure you will."

It was clear the conversation was light, but straying towards Hotch, so Emily took the opportunity to exact her revenge on her Unit Chief. She slipped her foot out of her heel, and slowly but surely, Emily made her way up Hotch's leg with her foot. 

"Art?" She heard Mr. Johnson ask, and Hotch laughed. He had smiled the whole evening, but he honest to God  _laughed_ , and Emily had to keep herself from raising an eyebrow. 

(Not that she didn't like the sound. It was warm, and new, and she wanted to hear it again.)

"It seems Sophie is playing the most complicated game of footsie I've ever experienced. If you'll excuse me, Mister Johnson, my girlfriend is being  _quite_ unfair to me." 

"Of course." 

Hotch took Emily's hand and led her out of the booth, and she mentally kicked herself in the ass. 

 _Now you've done it, Prentiss,_ she thought,  _the whole thing is going to be blown because Aaron Hotchner can't handle your insane antics._

Hotch crossed his arms, and Emily averted her eyes. They were still relatively close to the booth, so Hotch said, "Sophie." Emily made no move to respond. "Sophie?" She wrung her hands behind her back. "Emily." He said softly, and Emily had to relent, because she had never seen this side of Hotch before, and it included a damn good pair of puppy dog eyes. 

"Yeah?" She asked, and Hotch sat her down on a stool at the bar. "Do you need to go?" He asked, and he looked so concerned that Emily smiled. "Because I could make a damn good excuse about where you went." He said softly, his hands shoved in his pockets and looking remarkably like a nervous boyfriend.

"Yeah?" Emily asked, her voice suddenly jumping a few notes down. "Let's hear it, then." She walked towards the booth with Hotch, and Hotch began to scoop up their things. "Going so soon?" Mr. Johnson almost sounded...  _sad_? Like he thought he'd made a new friend. Emily bit down on her lip to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir." She marveled at how quickly Hotch slipped back into the dialect he'd shown off. "Like I said earlier, Soph' surprised me. I didn't quite get to give her the proper Southern welcome I wish I could." Hotch's eyes darkened at the words, and their "friend" seemed to understand the meaning. He scooped a hand under Emily's chin and kissed her like it was the beginning of something. 

Suddenly, Emily understood what a proper Southern welcome was.

"Let's go, then." Emily managed to say, trying to keep the huskiness out of her voice that wanted to edge in. Hotch held open the door to let her go first, ever the gentleman, and followed her into the chilly night air.

"He's still watching us, you know." Emily said softly, looking towards the bar and their "friend". "We can't leave in different cars or he might..." Hotch understood, he'd already gone through the options too. 

"Do you mind if we take your car?" Emily asked. "Mine is kind of running out of gas."

"Emily Prentiss, did you do all this just so you didn't have to go get gas?" Hotch raised an eyebrow.

"Well, look at that. Hotch made a funny." 

"Keep up these antics and I might just make another."


	2. The Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily decides she needs to have a conversation with her Unit Chief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Also, I felt like I should bring some team love in, lest it be unrealistic.

"Hey, Em', what's up?" 

"Have you seen Hotch?"

Morgan looked surprised at the abrupt change in topics, but he gave her his best smile. "Have I seen him ever, or have I seen him in the past two days, or have I seen him in the past two minutes?" Morgan asked, and Emily shook her head. "This morning," she sighed, "Have you seen him this morning?" 

"Nah, he's been in his office all morning. Strauss dropped by earlier with about a pound of paperwork, though, so that's definitely got something to do with it."

Emily grimaced, taking a seat on Morgan's desk. "What are we doing later," Morgan asked as the team filed in, "or are we just hangin' here?" He teased, looking from exhausted face to exhausted face. "Out." JJ replied, collapsing into her chair. " _Definitely_ out." 

"Ouch, Jayje- which WWE fighter did  _you_ take on today?" JJ was wiped, more so than the others, and she had an icepack pressed to her shoulder. "The local police." She answered, falling back in her chair again with a grimace. "Yikes." 

"Did they have any constructive criticism to offer, or was it just rude and- uh- violent?" Reid asked, watching Morgan help JJ adjust her icepack and JJ wince in pain.

"Well," JJ sighed, "If there was anything constructive, it was hidden under layers and layers of off-putting. Like a rude onion." She frowned, and the rest of the team laughed. "You enjoy my pain too much." JJ admonished, but a grin escaped nonetheless. Emily managed to sneak a peek at Hotch's office, and noticed he was taking a break from the 'pound of paperwork' Morgan had described. 

"I'm just going to..." Emily excused herself with an apologetic smile, heading up the stairs to Hotch's office. 

"I will  _never_ understand that girl." Morgan chuckled, and JJ shrugged. "Ow, ok, shoulder, ow. Bad idea. No shrugging." She laughed at herself, tapping Morgan's knee lightly with her available fist. "That's alright." She finished gracefully. 

Emily knocked softly on the door, with no plan and absolutely nothing to use as an excuse.

"Come in."

Well, there went her planning time. Emily could see it as it floated away in the breeze.  _Whoops._

"Emily?" She'd surprised him. Good. Emily took a seat on the opposite side of Hotch's desk with a sigh. "Hotch." 

There was a pause.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to be honest, I came in here without a plan. This is, uh, this is the furthest I got in my mind."

"I see. What did you come in here without a plan to do?" Hotch asked, leaning back in his chair. "Well, uh..." Well, at least she'd learned a lesson. Never go somewhere without a plan. But now she was here, and Emily had to do something. "I was wondering if you could give me some answers." She decided that was a good, vague question.

"I sort of figured you'd have some questions." Hotch admitted, a smile slipping through. "What did you have in mind?"

"Arthur Dawkins?" Emily reached into her pocket and pulled out the badge she'd brought with her to work that morning, handing it across to Hotch. "What was that?" Hotch looked down at the badge, fiddling with it for a few seconds before looking back up to Emily. "It was a long time ago." He said, wistfully. "In a galaxy far, far away?" Emily supplied, and Hotch laughed. "Not quite," he was still fiddling with the badge, even as his eyes met Emily's. "unless New York is a galaxy far, far away."

"What happened?" 

"I was undercover." He said, and Emily raised an eyebrow. "NYPD wanted us to find a guy they thought was harassing cops, thought they might as well see what we could do with a cop on our side. Thus," He gestured with a small smile, "Arthur." 

"Did you find him?"

"Yeah. I was on patrol with a few other cops. He tried for us and one of them got him good in the groin before we put him in the car." Hotch smiled and Emily burst out in a laugh. "Amazing." She said, leaning back in the chair. "Sounds like he deserved it though."

"Oh, he did." Hotch assured her, his smile staying in place this time. 

"So..."

"So?" Hotch raised an eyebrow.

" _So_ , you can't have forgotten about that Southern bomb you dropped." 

"Ah." Hotch sighed, "I'm Virginian, born and raised. I've kind of worked it off. But when I need to, or when I go home..."

"It pops back up again." Emily interjected, smiling warmly again.

A knock sounded on Hotch's door, and Emily sat up immediately. "Come in." Hotch called, and Morgan popped his head in. "Alright, we're heading out, so if you two are done with this, you're welcome to come too."

"Where are you going?" Emily asked, already standing up. "Dunno," Morgan shrugged, "the bar." Emily laughed and nodded. "Alright, count me in." Morgan shot her a look that told her she never really had a choice anyway and turned to Hotch. "How 'bout you?" 

"Sure." Hotch nodded, "I think I could use a drink." He gestured to the piles of paperwork around him with a sigh, and Morgan laughed. "Yeah, I agree. Alright, I'll be out in the lot, if you need me, but I'll text you both the address." Morgan jogged out the door, already with much more energy than earlier. Emily chuckled. "For what its worth," Emily said, hanging in Hotch's doorway, "I think the accent is cute." With that, Emily sprinted after Morgan, leaving Hotch to his own devices.

* * *

"I'm super glad everyone made it." Garcia said, practically glowing. "Me too." JJ wrapped an arm around her friend (her slightly less sore arm, having had to leave her icepack in the car) and smiled as Garcia reached up to squeeze her hand. "You alright, pumpkin?" Garcia asked, inspecting JJ's shoulder. "Fine, Garcia, I promise."

"She's just worried," Morgan said, coming up behind the pair, "and she has every right to be. You sure you're ok?"

"I'm  _sure_ I want some alcohol to distract me from my icepack-less shoulder." JJ said, laughing. "Come on, I'm ok."

"I can handle the alcohol bit." Emily called, already heading for the bar. "That's my girl." Morgan shot her a thumbs up. "Well, its not like we can make poor Boy Genius here do all the purchasing." Garcia said.

"Its a good time, though." Morgan grinned, "Watching them try to card an of age FBI agent." They all laughed, and Reid held up his hands. "In their defense, I  _am_ barely past drinking age."

"Reid, you're 24."

"Exactly."

JJ laughed, finishing her drink. A look of confusion washed over her, and Garcia noticed immediately. "What's up, Jayje?"

"Emily should be back by now, right? With the new round."

The team turned to peer at the bar, finding Emily in conversation with a guy who seemed a little too close for comfort. "Creep." Garcia scoffed, and both JJ and Garcia's phones slipped out of their pockets into their waiting hands. Emily seemed to have come up with a pretty good excuse, and she was making a phone call off to the side of the room. "So," Hotch watched it all unfold, "You all do this a lot, huh?" JJ nodded, her eyes still focused on Emily. Emily lifted the phone to her ear and- neither of the phones on the table went off. Hotch barely felt the vibration in his pocket, but when he did, he excused himself from the table. 

"I thought you weren't going to answer."

"You surprised me."

"That's what they say I'm best at."

"So, the usual then?" He teased, in a sad attempt to lighten the mood.

"Gosh, you make me sound so needy."

"Is that a no?" Hotch heard the sharp intake of breath, and he sighed. "I was kidding. I'll be over in a second."

"Good."

Hotch didn't even have to make up a new excuse- the team was too focused on Emily. At the moment, that played to his advantage. He crossed the bar room easily, making eye contact with Emily, who immediately pointed at him as he came closer. "There he is." She said, moving to his side so their backs faced the team. "Arthur Dawkins." Hotch said easily, extending a hand. "Pleasure." From the look the guy shot him, it was not a pleasure on his end. "Dawkins, huh? And who's the lovely lady?"

"She has a name." Hotch said, through his teeth. "I know for a fact she gave it to you, so why don't you use it?"

"Boyfriend." Emily said quickly, but the guy didn't deflate as expected. Hotch snaked an arm around Emily, both ready to do what was necessary. "Have you been doing what she says you have? Do I need to kick your ass, or do you understand when a lady says no, she means no?"

"What says you _could_ kick my ass?"

"You look like a wimp." Hotch said, his other hand going for his pocket, "And I'm law enforcement."

 _That_ seemed to deflate the guy, and Hotch smiled. "Thank you." 

The guy stalked off, and Hotch's hand dropped from his pocket. 

"Were you really going for the badge?" Emily asked, and Hotch smiled. "I left it in my desk."

As Emily picked up the drinks for the next round, she leaned into Hotch to whisper, "And will he be watching us?"

"Should we risk it?" Hotch asked, and Emily laughed. "You are going to get your ass handed to you for this."

"Considering our track record," Hotch said, like it wasn't the second time they'd done this, "I think we're prepared."

"Well, then. I will  _laugh_ when they question you about this." 

Hotch raised an eyebrow. "A, Emily Prentiss, they're going to question  _us._ B," He paused to point a few booths over, where the offender sulked, eyes lingering on Emily, "that."

"Ah ha. So this is what all creepy men do at bars, then? They watch their targets with their boyfriends?" 

Hotch shrugged. "Lots of 'em."

"Then let's give him something to watch." Emily grinned, kissing Hotch. She could almost hear the comments of the team in her head, but hell.

"We have to go back now." Hotch said gently, like he wasn't sure how Emily would react. "I know." Emily nodded. "They didn't know it was you, I don't think, because your back was to them. We might be able to play it off." She paused, a smile growing on her face. " _Or_ , we could just take my safety into account first."

"Mm. Sure this isn't all a big scam so you get to find out even more?"

"Not quite sure yet." Emily revealed, heading back to the table with the team's drinks. Hotch followed, rolling his eyes. As Emily was in their sight, Hotch heard a cry of 'Em!' come up from the team, and he had to bite his lip to avoid a laugh. "Emily, what happened?" The team had taken up a booth, and Hotch pulled over two stools to accommodate Emily and himself. "Yes, Emily." He raised an eyebrow and sipped his new drink calmly. "What happened?"

Emily looked between Hotch and the rest of the team, as she tried to decide on a cover story. She barely had time to start before Morgan interrupted.

"Who was your knight in shining armor, Emily? Y'all were hiding your faces from us, Garcia was over here making up crazy stories." Emily winced, sure Garcia had probably hit the mark, but covered it up nicely with a smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know, Morgan?"

"He's still watching." JJ commented, her eyes on the guy. "It's really creepy."

"C'mon, Emily, we're profilers! _We'll get it_." Morgan threatened, a grin on his face, and Emily raised an eyebrow. "Evidently not very good ones." She heard Hotch mumble, and Emily sputtered, choking on her drink. Hotch flashed her a smile as she finished her coughing fit. 

"Alright," Morgan sat up, raising a challenging eyebrow, "I bet you $10 that we can guess which of these guys it was." 

"I see your bet." Emily sipped her drink for suspense before adding, "I bet you $25 that you can't." 

"Deal."

"Deal."

They shook and Hotch groaned.  
"Let's see. He was a little taller than you, probably three, four inches- Jayje?"

"Five. Emily's wearing heels."

"She shoots, she  _scores_! Thank you, JJ. Five inches taller than Emily Prentiss, who is..."

Reid held up five fingers on each hand. 

"Who is 5 feet, 5 inches." Morgan finished, sizing Emily up. "That makes your mysterious friend just about 5'10"." Garcia nodded in agreement, and Emily groaned. They weren't really  _getting_ anywhere, but it was annoying as hell. Why did she sign up for this? Hotch, on the other hand, kept a remarkably good poker face.

"5'10", dark hair, medium build."

"White." Garcia added in helpfully, and Morgan laughed. "Baby girl, that's still a lot of guys." Garcia nodded thoughtfully. "He was wearing a suit jacket." 

At this, Emily snuck a peek at Hotch. Sure enough, he was already prepared. His jacket had been ditched, and now he sat on it, still unfazed.

"Alright, 5'10", dark hair, medium build, white, suit jacket." Morgan confidently peered around the bar. Unsatisfied with his results, he grimaced. "We all are hallucinating." He deduced with a sigh. "Literally nothing happened, and we all just imagined it."

"Clever theory." Emily commented slyly, "But no. Now, because my beau is not the invisible man, you owe me twenty-five."

"Wait!"

"Lookin' to make it more?" Emily asked, as Morgan fell back. He dug into his pocket, sliding $25 across the booth to Emily. 

"You're awful quiet over there, Boy Genius." Garcia grinned, and Reid shrugged. "I think its funny."

"What, me losing twenty five of my hard earned dollars?"

"Well, that," Reid admitted, "and that no one got it."

Emily threw him a look that said, 'please no', and he caught it with an understanding nod, zipping his lips. "Whoah, no, no, Boy Genius. You think you could've guessed who it was and  _saved_ me- no,  _earned_ me $25?" Reid laughed. "Well, seeing as I've been sworn to secrecy..."

"No, no, no!" Garcia leaned in. "This is juicy."

Reid quickly shook his head. "C'mon guys, this is Emily's stuff."

"And we are Emily's friends." Garcia reasoned.

Reid gave them his best shrug and looked to Emily, eyes nervous and confused.

"It's really not my place either." Emily said decisively, and practically everyone threw up their arms.

"Emily Prentiss, I will hack into these security cameras and  _find out_." Garcia threatened, and Emily grimaced. "You're making too big a deal of it."

"Yes," Reid nodded, "they are." He was desperate to help Emily at any chance he could, but the team was relentless. 

"Yes, we are, because we love you and we are very nosy." Garcia grinned, reaching for her phone to hack already.

"It is absurd." Emily rolled her eyes, and then, the unexpected happened, as Emily had learnt it so often did when it came to Aaron Hotchner.

"Why," Hotch said slowly, speaking for the first time since they'd gotten back to the table, "isn't he coming over here?" It took all Emily's willpower not to shove him. "You know, he's a creep, he's been watching Emily, he approached her, he was incredibly persistent- persistent enough to take about twenty minutes-"

"Fifteen."

"Thank you, Reid. Fifteen minutes, trying to convince her to do whatever. He doesn't give up, he's right over there, and he has Emily in his sights. So what stops him from coming over here?"

"Law enforcement?" Morgan mused, and Hotch smiled ruefully. "Are we really that noticeable, Morgan? On our night off, crammed into a booth, can he really pick out the FBI?"

Morgan deflated. 

"5'10", dark hair, medium build, white, suit jacket. Take one more look around this bar."

The group seemed defeated, so Hotch paused before saying, "Reid? Care to take over?" Reid bit his lip and took over the attention with an apologetic smile sent Emily's way. "5'10"," he repeated, "dark hair, medium build, white, suit jacket." Reid smiled, despite himself. "Morgan, approximately how many people in this bar are 5'10"?" 

"Males?"

"Sure."

Morgan seemed to take forever to count, but when he was sure, he gave his estimate. "Ten."

"How many of these male bar patrons have dark hair... JJ?"

JJ took even longer with her task, but she gave her estimate. "Twenty five, twenty six?"

"How many of these bar patrons are of medium build, Garcia?"

"Now  _that's_ a question I can appreciate," Garcia took a look around, "Lookin' at muscle. Uh, I'd say eight, maybe nine, depending on your definition of medium build."

"JJ," Reid was having  _too much_ fun, "How many of your twenty six dark haired friends are white?"

"Twelve." 

"Reid." Emily warned, but there was a grin on her face. It was fun watching Reid lead the others through this.

"Morgan, how many of the 5'10" males in this bar are white?"

"Including you and Hotch? Four."

"How many of the medium build guys, Garcia?"

"Aw, there goes that cutie, right out of my count." Garcia frowned. "Including Hotch, I guess, three?"

"How many of those men are wearing suit jackets? Anyone now." 

"None, Reid. We did this."

Reid looked crestfallen. "You didn't look very hard." He said, and pointed to Hotch, who had slipped back into his suit jacket. 

"Holy shit, Hotch-"

"Whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Reid quoted, and Hotch laughed.

Morgan still looked despondent over his loss of $25 (or maybe it was that he'd basically lost it to his boss), and Garcia and JJ were looking at Hotch, mouths agape.

"But-" JJ winced as her shoulder twinged again with pain. "But it was so  _good_."

Hotch chuckled and Emily pantomimed a sitting bow. "Thank you, thank you, we'll be here all week." Emily shot a kiss Garcia's way. When she dropped the facade, she rolled her eyes. "Penelope Garcia, close your mouth." JJ followed suit, she didn't really want to be given directions with that tone right now.

"So, uh... do you have a bar name now?" JJ asked, after a bit of silence, and Hotch grinned. "I've practically got a lifestory. Emily is  _very_ thorough."

Emily whacked him in the arm, a smile on her face. " _I'm_ not the one with the badge, Hotch!" 

"The badge?"  _Damn Morgan for being so perceptive._ He had perked up, though, and Emily turned her stool to face Hotch. "Yes, let's hear about this badge. You owe Morgan a good story, after all."

" _I_ owe him a story? Emily Prentiss, you are a handful." The team was looking at their unit chief, wondering how this half of him had slipped past them, when they heard Emily mumble something that sounded remarkably like, "Your other option is the accent," and JJ raised an eyebrow. Knowing they'd overheard, Hotch made a mental note that Emily Prentiss was a woman on a mission and that mission did not include a filter. "Badge it is, then." He sighed, falling back in his chair.  _This_ was going to be a long night.

 

 

 


End file.
